Lima, Texas, 1871
by itsactuallycorrine
Summary: Rachel is the daughter of a prosperous shop owner. Puck is the town blacksmith. Featuring the entire cast and various pairings, but ultimately, Puckleberry. AU
1. Chapter 1

_**Texas, 1871**_

"Rachel! Be quiet! Do you hear that?"

Rachel Berry graced her companion with her most unladylike scowl, then stopped and caught her breath at the sound. "A… a carriage! Coming this way!"

Emma Pillsbury-Howell clambered up from her seat on her very uncomfortable portmanteau and stood on the dirt-stained toes of her kid slippers and saw the unmistakable cloud of trail dust flying up behind a carriage being quickly pulled by two horses. Turning to the younger girl, she bit her lip, but desperation outweighed her hesitance. "Rachel, please. Let me do the talking if they stop. We have no idea where we are, and how far it is to Lima."

"Mrs. Pillsbury-Howell, really! As if it were my fault that barbarian stagecoach driver couldn't take a few slight criticisms!"

If the situation were funny at all, Emma would've laughed. "A _few_ slight criticisms, Rachel? You insulted the man, and most of the other passengers, and incited them enough that they _threw us off the carriage in the middle of nowhere!_"

Rachel bit her lip and looked away. Perhaps Mrs. Pillsbury-Howell had a point; after all, the schoolteachers back in St. Louis had always told her that she wasn't the most… tactful person. But, really, they shouldn't have taught her "honesty is the best policy" if they didn't want her to use said honesty. Shaking off her uncharacteristic moment of self-doubt, Rachel beamed a smile at the other woman. "Nonsense, Mrs. Pillsbury-Howell! And regardless, this situation appears as though it may turn out favorably after all."

As the rumbling cloud of dust came closer, Rachel prepared herself by holding a linen handkerchief over her face, and using her other arm to wave wildly. "Over here! Over here!"

Noah "Puck" Puckerman had had a grueling day, and as a blacksmith, that was not uncommon. However, this particular day, his fatigue was not brought about by the iron and fire of the forge, but by the most daunting of all tasks: customer relations. The long trip into Houston had been profitable for him and his partner, but there was nothing Puck hated more than kowtowing to a bunch of men who all looked down their noses at the blacksmith. The one silver lining was that, however bad Puck needed their money, they needed his wares just as bad. He was by far the most reliable and talented blacksmith in East Texas, and the work of the larger smithies in Houston couldn't compare to what Puck was capable of. So it was with that small satisfaction, a pocketful of cash, and a surly disposition that Puck headed back to his hometown of Lima.

He wouldn't have noticed them at all if it hadn't been for the flickering of his mares' ears. Puck knew from many nights out that that particular motion was a foreboding of trouble, so he instantly slowed their pace and cast a wary eye around. And it was then he saw them: two women, one standing still, one waving like a lunatic, obviously stranded.

He snorted to himself. Yep, this would definitely be trouble.

For a moment, Rachel had sincere doubts that the man was going to stop, but almost through the sheer force of her will (which, to be quite honest, was formidable) he seemed to slow and finally notice them. With the smallest tug to this team, he was slowing even more and now coming in their direction. As his carriage came to a stop and his mares snorted and caught their breath, he lifted a hand their way.

"Hello, ladies," he called, his voice deep and smooth. "You need some help?"

Rachel wanted to roll her eyes – they _obviously _needed help – but resisted the urge and tried a charming smile instead. "Good day, sir. We're on our way to Lima, when we were callously abandoned by our stagecoach. Are you by any chance heading in that direction and willing to take on a few passengers? I assure you, once we get to Lima, my father will be more than happy to compensate you for your time. My name is Rachel Berry, and this is my companion, Mrs. Pillsbury-Howell, and we're travelling from St. Louis. Luckily, the driver also took the time to toss out our belongings after us, so we do have our portmanteaus to come along as well, which I hope that additional burden will not cause any undue stress on your cattle. The rest of our belongings are following behind-"

"Good God, woman!" The man jumped down from his perch, and walked over to grab the first portmanteau, Rachel's, and throw it on the flat bed behind the carriage. "The whole matter could have been handled in six words instead of six paragraphs. Now get in, and, for the love of all that is holy, stop that prattling. We've got a couple of hours until Lima, but I'll be more than happy to make you walk 'em."

Rachel snapped her mouth closed and sniffed, and turned a glare on Mrs. Pillsbury-Howell when the woman had the audacity to giggle quietly. "Very well. I'll silence myself and graciously accept your assistance, Mr…"

He grunted as he threw the last bag up, then offered Mrs. Pillsbury-Howell a hand onto the single bench, and finally turned back to Rachel. "Just call me Puck," he said with a smirk, holding out his work-roughened hand to hers. Rachel set her kid glove in it, and took a good look at his face for the first time. Laughing hazel-green eyes looked back at her from a wickedly handsome tanned face that was all hard edges, and she felt color fill her cheeks.

Taking a deep breath, she sent him a cool smile. "Puck. How charming," she said, placing her hand in his and allowing him to assist her into his conveyance. Settling her skirts, she took her seat next to Mrs. Pillsbury-Howell, who still looked amused. "I'm glad you're enjoying this," Rachel muttered watching the man pat his mares' necks as he rounded the front and made his way to the other side of the bench.

Quickly, he seemed to realize how far to the left the women's skirts pushed his own position. "Ladies, I think I'll need to sit between you if we don't want the horses going in a circle."

Mrs. Pillsbury-Howell immediately jumped to shift away, a fact that was not lost on Rachel, and she shot her companion a telling look, and tried to hide the quick pang in her chest. Her entire life Rachel had known that she was… difficult. She was honest, talkative, ambitious, driven, and sometimes a little critical. As such, she wasn't blessed with a plethora of friendships like the other girls at the boarding school. But that was all right, because she had at least one very good friend back in Houston with whom she maintained a lively correspondence. And, at one point, she thought she'd had even more with… But that was neither here nor there, she told herself firmly, pushing the painful memories away.

Her father had packed up his business and home and made a fresh start in the small town of Lima, and that was exactly what Rachel planned to do as well.

The man, Puck (a distasteful nickname, Rachel decided), put the horses into motion without saying another word to either woman. After what was surely an hour (or perhaps just ten minutes) Rachel could no longer stand the silence. "So… Puck, are you familiar with Lima?"

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, then back to their path. "Yep."

Rachel waited for him to elaborate for a few minutes, then let out a disgruntled sigh. "What's it like?"

He hitched up one broad shoulder. "S'okay."

Irked, Rachel decided to play his game. If he thought his reticent ways would discourage her from speaking, he had another thing coming. "I'm originally from Houston, but I've been in St. Louis for the last ten years at a boarding school. My father moved to Lima last year, so although technically it's my home now, since I've never seen it, it doesn't feel like home. My very best friend Mercedes and her father moved with my father. Mr. Jones is my father's most loyal employee, since my father gave him his first job as a free man. It was my mother's idea, of course. She always had a lot of empathy since our people were slaves, too. At least that's what my father tells me, I don't remember my mother. She died when I was a little girl, during childbirth. My sister died, too. Do you have a sister? I always wanted one, or a brother. Although what good it would have done me at a boarding school, I don't know. But still, having-"

"Enough!"

Rachel stared up at her rescuer with wide, guileless eyes. "Is something wrong? Puck."

He finally took his eyes of the road long enough to glare at her, and Rachel could see that his already hard jaw was tightened even further with annoyance. "Woman, the Union Army didn't even realize that the greatest weapon they could've used was you, talking the Confederacy into submission. I have never heard a person use so many words in so short a time." He shook his head in amazement, and turned to address Mrs. Pillsbury-Howell. "Is she always like this?" he asked, tilting his head towards Rachel.

Rachel jumped in before her companion could. "Honestly, sir, I'm just trying to make conversation, a nicety you obviously lack the social skills to handle given your uncivilized one-word answers to my inquiries."

"Duchess, you're lucky you even get that out of me today." He turned back to her and smirked. "Let me make this real clear for you, Rachel Berry: I am doing you a favor, and unless you want your sweet little behind left behind on the side of the trail again, I highly recommend you keep your mouth shut for the remainder of our ride. Do you understand?"

Rachel glared up at him, fuming over his nerve. She stiffly turned forward, and glanced away from him, silently submitting to his will.

And if there was a little hurt beneath the anger, well, at least she was the only one who'd know.

Puck had never been so happy to see the tiny town of Lima in all his life. He'd expected the ride to be bearable once the yapping girl had finally left off. However, with every mile that passed in silence, his guilt grew and left him feeling like an ass.

She was just a girl, hardly bigger than a whisper, who was nervous about her new hometown. And, honestly, her voice hadn't been that hard to listen to once he blocked out the content of her conversation. It was almost melodic. That thought immediately made him uncomfortable, so he turned his thoughts to apologizing. After all, Lima _was_ a small town and if they were both going to live there, they'd need to come to terms with each other.

But, shit, he didn't want to give her the idea that he wanted her following him around yammering at him. Maybe he wouldn't mind shutting her up in other ways, he considered, thinking about her pouting lips and tiny waist and snapping brown eyes. No, that seemed like a strategy he could fully get behind. There weren't too many unattached women in Lima, and a man could only avail himself of the local saloon girl for so long until he began to look pathetic. Puck knew before long, his mother was going to get serious about her talk of him finding a nice Jewish woman to settle down with. He'd always figured that when the day came, far off in the future, he'd start nosing around Houston's Jewish community, one of the oldest in Texas.

But if Rachel Berry was the daughter of David Berry, maybe it wouldn't come to that. Of course, him getting married was _years_ away, so the idea that this girl would stay available until that point was laughable.

And, of course, it was also contingent on whether or not he could get through a few hours with her without wanting to set himself on fire.

As he pulled into town, he glanced at Rachel. "Welcome to Lima," he murmured, catching her eye.

She sprang upright on her seat and cast a curious glance around. He could practically hear the questions forming in her mind, and knew she was biting them back due to his dictate. He grimaced and nearly told her to go ahead, when he spotted her friend Mercedes Jones and her father on the sidewalk in front of the bank.

So did she. "Mercedes!" she cried out, turning in her seat to wave at her friend. "Oh, please stop," she begged, turning back to Puck with tears in her eyes and placing her small hands on his arm. "Please, please stop."

He was already pulling back to halt his mares. No sooner had they came to a halt, then she was over the side. "Damn it, woman," he bit out, feeling his heart drop into his stomach. She was just a little slip of a thing. She was going to hurt herself if she went throwing herself out of carriages.

She didn't hear him, though, as she ran back to her friend and they tossed their arms around each other, and cried. Puck glanced away uneasily, then turned to her companion, who he realized with a start, he'd largely ignored the entire way. "Just one moment, Mrs. Pillsbury-Howell, and I'll help you down."

At her soft murmur of agreement, Puck slid off the other side of the bench and went to greet Mr. Franklin Jones. Shaking the black man's hand, Puck gestured to his carriage. "I've got their bags. Do you think David would want them taken to the house or to the shop?"

"The shop!" Rachel and Mercedes answered at once, hugging and laughing once more.

Franklin looked down at his daughter and her friend with fondness, and nodded. "Let's just take it to the shop. He can deal with it when he's done fussing over Miss Rachel."

The two girls set off, arm in arm, leaving Puck standing there with the carriage in bewilderment. She wasn't even going to say anything to him before she walked away? Frowning, he helped Franklin unload the bags, then assisted Mrs. Pillsbury-Howell down from the carriage and introduced her to Franklin. After that was done, Puck shot one last look at Berry's storefront.

He felt a hand on his arm, and looked down into the porcelain face of Mrs. Pillsbury-Howell. "Thank you so much for helping us, sir," she said timidly. "I know Rachel can be a little hard to handle sometimes, but-"

Puck grinned a little. "Nah, she's not so bad. Welcome to Lima," he said before jumping back onto his rig and heading over to the smithy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Glee**

_**Chapter Two**_

Puck returned back to the smith to leave his profit for his partner to tally and enter into the ledgers, unhitched his horses and rubbed them down, and then headed towards the Lucky Bullet.

"Puckerman!" came from behind the bar, and Puck shot a grin at the curly-headed barkeep.

"Anderson, set me up a round for the boys," he called and made his way over to his customary table in the corner.

His best friend, Finn Hudson, was already waiting with a wide grin and a hardly touched whiskey. "A whole round, Puckerman? Someone must've made a killing in Houston."

"Or just gotten laid," Blaine joked, laying out fresh glasses and filling them to the brim.

Puck scowled. "Yeah, as if I need to go to Houston for that."

At a nearby table, a big burly ranch hand named Karofsky laughed. "You do if you ever want anyone other than Santana. She's warned every willing woman in the town off your hide."

Grimacing, Puck took a bracing belt of the watered-down whiskey. "Don't know why." He shrugged. "She's allowed any man that wanders in this place. Seems like I should have my own freedom as well." He looked over at Finn, and saw that his friend was blushing, and sighed. He'd better distract Finnocence before his hair caught fire. "So , David Berry's daughter is in town."

That caught the attention of several men, much to Puck's dismay. Women were few and far between here, and most men were looking for a wife to do their cooking, cleaning and other… wifely duties. Normally, this sort of activity would amuse him. After all, one more man helped into the parson's mousetrap just meant it was one less chance for he himself to be caught. But the thought of one of these men pursuing Rachel Berry… well, it just didn't feel right.

After all, he reasoned with himself, none of them were Jewish, and that was undoubtedly important to her and her father.

"Oh, yeah?" Finn smiled placidly, the content expression of man already romantically engaged. "What's she like?"

Puck shrugged bad-naturedly and wondered why he'd brought this up. "She's abrasive, bossy, and never shuts up."

"So," Karofsky said, "she's a woman."

The patrons of the Lucky Bullet found this uproarious until a door near the back was slammed. "Aw, c'mon, Karofsky," a sharp voice called out, "we're not all that bad, are we?"

Puck looked at Karofsky in amusement as the other man swallowed harshly. "No, ma'am."

Stepping into the light, Sue Sylvester, the proprietor of the Lucky Bullet and town terror, sent a quelling look over the room. "Keep in mind, gentlemen, that you are here at my own allowing. If I wanted, I could turn you all out and turn this into a wayward house for troubled girls. Instead, I sell you cheap drinks and cheaper lays. So I'd ask you: keep a civil tongue in your heads when it comes to women."

The men hunched over their drinks, avoiding her gaze, as she swanned up the bar, her short hair shining gold as she leaned over to her employee, a blond man Puck hadn't noticed before. "Trouty mouth, give me a bottle of whiskey," she ordered. "And not the cheap stuff you give these swine."

He promptly served her, and without another word, she was gone, leaving the tension lingering.

Blaine was the first to break it, as he fought to contain his mirth. "Man, Dave, if you had seen your face…"

That was all it took to have the rest of the men laughing as Karofsky finished his drink and stormed out.

Puck leaned back in his chair and smirked until Finn looked at him appraisingly. "What?" he asked, defenses up.

"It's nothing. Except…"

"Except what?"

Finn shrugged and gave his own smirk, which didn't really fit the man's goofy, too-young face. "You seemed to be warning all the men off this Rachel Berry, when normally you'd be the first one helping them to the altar. Could it be that your mother will get her wish of Jewish grandchildren sooner than later?"

Puck muttered some choice phrases under his breath, then knocked back his drink. "Hell, no." Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a swath of dark hair over red fabric. "In fact, I think I'm going to go check in with Santana. Don't wait up," he said with a smirk as he rose.

"Done for," he could've sworn he heard Finn murmur beneath his breath, but he chose to ignore his friend and concentrate on the night's activities instead.

* * *

Rachel finally made it to her father's new home, a lovely house on the west side of town, where he had tried very hard to make it seem the same as the house in Houston. Nearly inch for inch, her bedroom was exactly the same as she remembered it. It was there she waited for her father after they'd dined with the Joneses and Mrs. Pillsbury-Howell, and were now settling in for the night.

As much as she loved Mercedes and Mr. Jones, she couldn't help but have hoped to have her father all to herself for her first night in this new place. She had so many questions to ask about his sudden relocation. She shook the thought away with a moment of guilt. That wasn't fair. For all intents and purposes Mr. Jones was like a second father to her, and Mercedes the closest thing she'd ever had to a sister. She had missed them dreadfully, and they had missed her.

And she had right now to get her questions answered, she thought as her father knocked softly on the door and she beckoned him in.

"Rachel," he said, sitting down next to her and drawing her into his arms once more. "I've missed you so much, sweetheart."

"Oh, Papa." Rachel burrowed her head into his shoulder and fought back the infantile tears that wanted to spill forward. Everything she'd been through in St. Louis bubbled back to the surface, all the fears and regrets and sadness. She refused to let any of that touch this new, fresh life, though.

Her father slowly released her and eased back. "Rachel, you look more like your mother every day," he marveled.

She took the opportunity to really look at him. He was as slight as ever, though his dark hair was decidedly thin and graying now. Some unspoken worry had lined his face slightly, but all in all, he looked like home. And love. She smiled. "Papa, I've missed you, and Texas so much. But I have to ask: why here? Why leave the prosperity of Houston to open a shop here?"

Something flickered across his face, too quickly for Rachel to identify it, and then he smiled. "There was nothing left for us in Houston, sweetheart. We were one of a handful of similar stores. And I thought, why be one choice out of so many, when I can come and help build a community and be the _only_ choice?"

It wasn't the truth; at least, not the whole truth, Rachel suspected. "But what about Temple? There's no synagogue close to here. What have you been doing for Shabbat?"

"There's a lovely widow, Sarah Puckerman, in town who is also Jewish. Her husband moved her and their children here before going off to join the War, and she has been very gracious, and I think a little happy, to have us over for the meals."

Rachel heard the words "a lovely widow_"_ over and over in her mind, but set it aside until later to see how she felt about her father possibly developing an infatuation for a woman. "She has children? How old?"

"Let's see. Her daughter, Rebekah, is ten now. And her son Noah is twenty-two. And single. And co-owner in a prospering business."

She groaned and threw herself back on her bed. "That's what this is about, isn't it, Papa? You and this Mrs. Puckerman have been conspiring with one another."

"Rachel," he soothed, "we're not conspiring towards anything. We have just spoken occasionally about how wonderful it would be if you and Noah were compatible. It would save both of you the time and expense of going to Houston to the Temple Beth Israel for find a suitable spouse."

Rachel wanted to ask why he assumed her future husband must be Jewish, but refrained. Her father had definite opinions on the matter that she wasn't keen to hear them all tonight. It had been bad enough when at one time she'd thought she'd actually have a Gentile fiancé to bring home; she wasn't going to waste her time and breath on a hypothetical man.

Her father was still talking. "-go to visit tomorrow. That's all I ask. Meet Sarah, and probably Rebekah, and if Noah happens to stop by, so much the better."


End file.
